


idle gossip

by kindlingchild



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, implied dimidue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlingchild/pseuds/kindlingchild
Summary: There is gossip of the relationship blooming between Margrave Gautier and Duke Fraldarius.There is also a rising threat of an ambush by the remaining Empire soldiers that hid in the shadows.Felix decides to take it into his own hands, but Sylvain can't bring himself to agree.(aka Felix is overprotective and scared, and Sylvain loves him so.)





	idle gossip

**Author's Note:**

> i really thought my first contribution to fe3h would be ferdibert but im playing through the be route after gd and bl sO HAKDJDJ
> 
> (ps, stan golden deer and joe zieja, FEAR THE DEER)
> 
> enjoy! dedicated to my friend riz ヽ(^o^)丿

There are whispers among the streets of Fhirdiad, maidens and nobles alike trotting along the cobblestone pathways on carriages tied to horseback as they speak in hushed tones of the Duke and Margrave's recent interactions.

_ Margave Gautier _ and _ Duke Fraldarius _are names closely followed by each other now, the latest word on the street all about the secret notes they allegedly exchange behind the King's back. It was all fool's talk, of course, but where there was news to gossip, the people of Faerghus indulged.

It's the year 1190, five years after the conclusion of the war that plagued the lands of Fódlan. There is a knock at the Margrave's door, and Sylvain Jose Gautier doesn't so much as glance at his office doors before giving his permission for another of his servants to enter.

"Come in," he deadpans as he continues dragging his quill across another document, staining the empty lines with ink. He expects a quiet mutter of news, perhaps a summon— simply waiting for the door to shut— but the door shuts without a word, and suddenly there's a sizable shadow cast over his papers, the faint outline of fur in the corners of his vision.

Sylvain smirks, setting his quill down before leaning back in his chair and looking up. Sure enough, the King of Faerghus himself stands before him, a simple smile stretched across his tired features, blue eye shimmering with a light of hope that Sylvain had not seen since they were children. The King is undoubtedly tired— running a country does that to you— but he seems lighter than he has in years.

"Your Majesty." There's a slight tease in Sylvain's voice as he stands and exaggerates his bow, his gesture earning a soft chuckle from Dimitri. The King dismisses his bow with a swift flick of his wrist, and suddenly the air is no longer as stuffy as it had been just moments before. The paperwork on his desk seems substantially more bearable, and Sylvain wonders if perhaps he just needed a break. "To what do I owe this honour?"

"Spare the formalities Sylvain, it's not a good look on you," Dimitri laughs as he slides a thin envelope across the mahogany table before Sylvain, and his gentle smile curls into a smirk, "Especially not with this letter being handed to you."

"Why not? Everyone bends to the will of the King. Am I no exception?" Sylvain accepts the letter gracefully, just a tad curious as to who the sender could possibly be. To have the King himself deliver the letter, it must've been of utmost confidentiality, in need of a discreet and subtle transfer. So when Sylvain flips the letter to see the familiar black wax seal engraved with the Crest of Fraldarius on it, his chest begins to warm.

There was a noticeable pile of letters stashed behind his drawer, stacked neatly on top of each other. All bore the wax seal with the Crest of Fraldarius, however unlike the official documents that Felix usually sends him, these do not have his name on the front. A plain envelope with a simple wax seal behind was all it took to bring Sylvain to his knees. 

These were the letters Sylvain read before bed to help him sleep; the letters that helped diminish the memories of the war and replace the chilling cold ache in his bones with warmth. These were the letters that Sylvain and Felix had delivered to each other only by friends or their most trusted servants; the letters that balanced on the edge of close compatriots to lovers.

"Sylvain, you're turning pink." There's a softness to Dimitri's voice, as if he recognised the feeling well— and he does, Sylvain has no doubt about it, for the boar had been calmed by a certain man from Duscur. There was no longer a tension in his shoulders, no more creases between his brows. His sighs considerably less heavy, his smiles all the brighter. Once, Sylvain even had the honour of witnessing Dedue call Dimitri by his name, which effectively rendered the King speechless.

"He asked you to deliver this to me? Yourself?" If Sylvain's voice breaks, Dimitri pretends not to hear it. The King nods with a knowing smile and watches as the Margrave cautiously peels off the wax seal, opening the envelope slowly and pulling out the letter inside. The paper is, of course, the highest grade paper in Fódlan, and even standing opposite Sylvain, Dimitri can see the hints of crisp sharp handwriting on the other side of the paper; which could only ever belong to one person. 

Sylvain feels his knees give way and he sits as he slowly unfolds the letter. The handwriting is undoubtedly familiar, neat and sharp in the darkest of ink. The sight of it is enough to render Sylvain speechless, for the affection in his chest only blooms as he begins to read.

_ Sylvain, _

_ I'm having Dimitri deliver this to you personally on the account of him having visited me to discuss some matters that require my attention. However, as I understand he is making his rounds around the Kingdom once more, I requested his assistance in delivering this to you. _

_ You must be aware by now of the rumours regarding our… relationship that float among the streets of Faerghus. I'm afraid we can no longer send letters to each other outside of work, let alone see each other besides official meetings. I would not like to compromise your safety, let alone our positions as Duke and Margrave, thus I must ask that we cut contact. _

_ I— _

The rest of the words blur as cold tears begin to drip, drip, down porcelain skip and smear the carefully quilled ink, and immediately Dimitri is beside him, a hand on his shoulder pressing his close to his chest. His cloak is warm against the shivering cold that's freezing over his lungs, constricting his ribs and striking the core of his heart. He's trembling and shaking and the paper only grows damper and damper until the bottom half is no longer legible; and suddenly the sides of the paper crumples and curls and Sylvain feels the cold diminish and a flaming hot anger ignite within him.

"Sylvain?" is the whisper that's breathed against his ear, Dimitri's voice soft and full of concern. The Margrave stands, crumpling the letter into a ball and tossing it across the room, teeth gritted as he narrows his eyes to focus his vision through the barrage of tears that trickle from his eyes. Without so much of a word, he storms out of his office, tears and all, Dimitri carefully following behind him.

When he opens the doors to his office, Dedue is standing by the door (always a few steps behind the King, always together in spirit with his Beloved), and Sylvain can see his face curl into one of concern in the corner of his eye. He ignores it entirely, the storm raging within him too chaotic to care, and he continues his rampage towards the Fraldarius territory.

"Sylvain, you shouldn't—" Dimitri calls softly. Sylvain whips around, eyes bloodshot and heart sinking in his ribcage, glare intense and teeth tightly gritted. His face is pale though his cheeks are intensely flushed, and his knuckles were white from how tightly he was clenching them. The King and his vassal stumble back slightly; the sheer rage and anger and sorrow radiating from Sylvain unlike anything they had ever seen from the Margrave before. Dimitri reaches out an arm— careful, sincere, concerned— and Sylvain swats it away, holding back sobs that gather and lump in his throat.

"Felix Hugo _ fucking _Fradalrius," Sylvain breathes, voice breaking as he curses, and his body racks with tremors. He looks as if he's about to fall over any minute, and when Dimitri casts a quick side glance to Dedue, his vassal is already asking a passing servant to prepare the royal carriage for Fraldarius territory. "I can't— He— Dimitri, he—"

"It's okay," Dimitri is instantly by his side as Sylvain crumbles to his knees, both arms wrapping around the cavalier as he falls. He holds Sylvain close— the embrace far from unfamiliar from the years they spent together as children— and he tells him promises of hope and light to help ease the pain that swells in Sylvain's heart. They limp to the carriage that waits for them at the entrance of the Gautier household, Dedue already standing and holding the door open for the both of them.

The ride to the Fraldarius house is silent save for the wracked sobs that tear through Sylvain's lungs and rupture the lining of his throat.

* * *

There's no knock before the doors to Felix's office slam open, a single red-headed Margrave standing alone in the doorway with his head tilted downwards, expression effectively hidden. Felix drops his quill in an instant, mouth agape as he stares.

"Syl… Sylvie…" The nickname rolls off his tongue, knees wobbling as he stands from his chair. Sylvain marches over in an instant, grabbing Felix by the collar and pulling the swordsman towards him, and when he finally lifts his head— Felix is inches from his face, the storm raging in brilliant orange apparent and dulling the colour he loved so.

"Why would you write that?" Sylvain's voice fills the office, each miniscule crack in his yell echoing off the walls and ringing in his ears. It doesn't even take a second for Felix to know which letter he's talking about— the one he had written with salted tears trickling down his scarred cheeks and trembling hands. "When did you care about what the people think? When did that ever stop you from delivering letters in the middle of the night? When did that ever stop you from— from—"

_ Loving me? _are the words that Felix fills in in his head, the message achingly clear in Sylvain's twisted frown and loud sobs. The Margrave releases his grip, dropping Felix back on the ground, and he leans forward onto the desk for support as his tears fall endlessly.

Much like Sylvain, Felix also had a stack of papers by his desk, each envelope complete with a simple _ F _written on the front with the red wax seal of Gautier pressed on the back. The letters that had calmed him after waking up in cold sweat from a nightmare, the letters that had kept him warm during the winter from the affection that seemed to swell up within him with every word. The letters he held close to his heart knowing Sylvain had sat down and taken the time to write each and every word, most definitely with a small smile on his face.

"Because it's dangerous!" Felix can't hold back the tears building behind his eyes, the lump gathering in his throat, and suddenly his expression matches that of Sylvain's, cracked and broken. "Because the leftover rogue armies from the Empire have been targeting the Kingdom! Because they've been targeting me and you! Because they'll hear about the rumors and seek to tarnish our reputations to weaken the Kingdom! Because— B-Because—"

_ Because I can't bear to see you get hurt again like you did during the war. Because I can't stand seeing you fight when you don't want to. Because I can't stand to see the look on your face after you've killed, no matter who the enemy may have been. Because— _

"I don't care about all of that, Felix! I couldn't give less of a shit if the Empire rogues are targeting us!" Sylvain looks up and grabs him by the shoulders, shaking the Duke back and forth vigorously. The action is brash and rough but Felix can feel Sylvain being careful and cautious to not hurt him— the ever caring, ever considerate cavalier. "We've been through _ war, _Felix! I can't stand the thought of never talking with you outside of business! Do you even— I can't even fathom free time without your company!"

"I can't stand by and watch you get hurt again, Sylvain!" Felix yells back, and the air in the room feels hot, suffocating; both the men's tears pouring down their faces and soaking into the wooden desk beneath them. The room echoes with the sound of sorrowful yells, and Felix wishes for anything, _ anything— _ a breath of fresh air, a cool breeze— anything to take away the flaming heat in his chest and the ache that lingers. "You almost _ died _ at Gronder! We put our lives on the line for the peace we now have! I— I can't—"

"What good is the peace if I can't spend it by your fucking side?" Sylvain's inches away from him now, breath hot against Felix's face and the swordsman can see every tear that streams down the cavalier's cheeks. He wants to wipe them away with his thumbs, to cup Sylvain's cheeks and pull him close and press his lips to ever tear the falls. Something blooms in his chest; icy but not chilling, and for just a moment, the world stills and the only thing in it is Sylvain.

He's leaning forward before he can even think, arms moving on their own towards Sylvain's face, callused fingers gently brushing against soft skin and wiping away the tears of a heartbroken man. _ I'm sorry _are the unspoken words as his lips press against Sylvain's, his tears merging with Sylvain's own as he pulls Sylvain closer, closer, closer.

The world itself fades away and it's just Sylvain, the warm arms around his waist and the soft lips against his and the hot air breathed between them as they pull away from each other for only a second before smashing their faces together again. It's a desperate, messy attempt at reconciliation, teeth knocking and hands gripping fabric both in panic and relief and everything in between.

"Sylvie, Sylvie, Syl…" Felix whispers his name on repeat like a prayer, breaths mingling as their foreheads press together and small smiles curl themselves onto each other's lips. Sylvain's grip tightens and suddenly Felix is lifted into the air and pulled forward. He's sitting on the table now, legs wrapped around Sylvain's torso, face buried in the crook of Sylvain's neck. The Margrave smells like citrus and vanilla— always has— and Felix swears to Sothis he could get drunk off the scent alone.

"Hiding isn't us, Feli." Finally, Felix's nickname reveals itself under the barriers of hurt and sorrow that had been there just moments before, and Felix feels himself melt into Sylvain's touch, the arms around his waist warm and inviting. "Summon our military! A few skirmishes with some rogue Empire knights can't possibly stop us. We _ won, _Felix."

"I… I suppose," Felix mutters, still a little unsure, still a little uncertain— but then he pulls back from the crook of Sylvain's neck and sees unmovable determination shining within burnt orange, and Felix feels the weight on his chest give way. He inhales, and it feels lighter than it had in months. "Y-Yes. Okay. Summon our arms and attack before they can."

"That's the spirit, Feli. It's gonna be okay." Sylvain smiles, and Felix thinks— for the first time in months, since he's received the news— that maybe everything really will be okay.

* * *

A month later and glasses clink together at the break of midnight after a day of battle, alcohol and ale alike swishing around and swallowed by the dozens of soldiers that had won the fight against the remaining soldiers of the Empire.

The King and his vassal, along with the Margrave and Duke sit together at a table in the corner of the inn, moving away from the excitement radiating from the younger soldiers, who chatter endlessly among themselves and fill the inn with laughter and joy.

"To another battle won," Dimitri smiles, gently raising his glass, and the other three men smile back and knock their glasses against the King's. They drink for awhile, chatting idly about the brilliant strategy crafted by Byleth (who stood at the other end of the inn, a small smile on their face as Ingrid, Ashe, Annette and Mercedes clambered over each other to talk to their old Professor). Eventually Sylvain excuses himself, tugging at the rim of Felix's sleeve, before leaving the inn altogether.

Felix casts Dimitri a questioning glance, and the King flicks his wrist, dismissing the question wordlessly. The Duke immediately stands and follows Sylvain's path, opening the doors to the inn and allowing the cool breeze of Faerghus' winter to brush across his cheeks.

When he fully steps outside, he sees Sylvain standing alone, and when the cavalier sees Felix, he breaks out into a grin. Felix walks over, a faux frown stretched across his own face, and Sylvain extends his arms and accepts Felix's warmth with ease.

They stay like that for awhile, Sylvain's arms wrapped tightly around Felix, the soft wool of their coats pressed tightly together as the chill of the winter breezes by. Felix breathes, visible clouds of smoke escaping his mouth as he does, and Sylvain laughs at the sight. Felix shoves— but there's no malice— and Sylvain pushes back, grins across their faces, and their little dance continues.

"No more hiding— ever," Sylvain's voice is soft, a whisper gone unheard except for their ears, and Felix buries his face in Sylvain's chest, a failed attempt at hiding the blush that creeps its way across his cheeks. But if Sylvain saw any of the pink that dusted his cheeks; Felix would just blame it on the cold.

"Shut up, Sylvain," Felix breathes his reply, pulling away hastily before grasping a fistful of fabric from Sylvain's coat and pulling him downwards, connecting their lips in a familiar dance that they perform just for each other. Felix pushes and Sylvain pulls, and they catch each other whenever the other falls.

* * *

There are whispers among the streets of Fhirdiad, maidens and nobles alike trotting along the cobblestone pathways on carriages tied to horseback as they speak in hushed tones of the Duke and Margrave's recent interactions.

_ Margave Gautier _ and _ Duke Fraldarius _are names closely followed by each other now, the latest word on the street all about the upcoming wedding planned to happen at the Garreg Mach Monastery. It's a knot that's always been destined to be tied, since they were children, and the people of Faerghus cheer and rejoice at the news. They bustle in excitement for the day, thinking of appropriate gifts, the right outfit— the like.

It's the year 1193, eight years after the conclusion of the war that plagued the lands of Fódlan, and three years since the Margrave and the Duke finally announced their courtship. There is a knock at the Margrave's door, and Sylvain Jose Gautier looks up with an excited smile, placing down his quill and immediately walking over to the door.

"Hello there," His voice is a teasing one— as it always was, when it came to the one standing at his door— and Felix walks in with a soft grumble. Sylvain releases the door and watches it close; the soft click of hinges echoing through the room before his collar is grabbed and he's pulled down to meet a familiar pair of lips.

The pile of letters in the corner has only grown taller, more disorganised— but the warmth in their hearts only spreads, swelling and blooming under the Fódlan sky.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: kitaguwu
> 
> come yell about fe3h and video games w me! comments and kudos are appreciated too hehe


End file.
